A World That Cannot Hold Drabble
by motley-atypical
Summary: Enjolras is seventeen years old and a District 4 tribute in the Hunger Games. A week since the Games begun all of his allies, including the District 11 boy that he has fallen in love with, have been killed...(Les Mis/THG Drabble, brief mention of Enjolras/Grantaire, Major Character Death).


I've seen a few mentions of Les Mis/The Hunger Games crossovers on Tumblr and I decided I would give writing something a wee try. I call this a "drabble" because although it's basically the length of a standalone, it kind of feels like it's part of a larger story which I may or may not one day get around to writing. The passage in italics is to set the context of the events that follow.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, Major character death.

I don't own anything.

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_Enjolras is seventeen years old and a District 4 tribute in the Hunger Games. A week since the Games begun all of his allies, including the District 11 boy that he has fallen in love with, have been killed. Only three Tributes remain – a boy from District 1, a girl from District 2 and Enjolras himself. They have been summoned to the Cornucopia for the final battle. Knowing he is going to die, Enjolras accepts his fate._

He hides in the wooded thicket surrounding the Cornucopia out of sight of the two Tributes who remain. They wait impatiently for him, the burly male sharpening axes against a stone, the girl practising her knife throwing. Enjolras is unarmed; he left his weapon with Grantaire's body to be carried away by the Capitol aircraft. All he carries with him is a length of thick red fabric; it had been in the pack he had managed to grab during the Bloodbath and had been used firstly as both something he could sleep underneath, and then later in his desperate attempts to stem the bloodflow as one by one, his allies and friends fell around him. The accursed thing is drenched in blood now.

It has been a long week. Enjolras has watched the four Tributes he had called his allies die. The very night before he had held Grantaire, the District 11 Tribute who had somehow managed to steal his heart, tightly to his chest, whispering useless words of comfort as he took his final breath; his had been a slow, lingering death thanks to the knife of the girl from District 8, someone they had foolishly chosen to trust. The District 8 boy and an ally, Marius, had previously given his life to protect her. When she had turned on Grantaire and attacked, Enjolras had been quick to bring her down but it was already too late – her knife work may have been clumsy, but it had met its mark through Grantaire's shoulder. He had died a few hours later. Enjolras had held him tightly and begged for some kind of gift from a sponsor even if was simply painkillers so that Grantaire would not be forced to endure such a painful death. Nothing had come. This late in the Games such gifts would be expensive and the Capitol would have loved the drama of it all: the _tragedy_ of the star-crossed lovers. Besides, time is dragging on. The Gamemakers are hungry for their Victor. This is why the remaining Tributes have been summoned back to the Cornucopia under the pretence of a feast. It's time for the final battle.

Enjolras knows that the remaining Tributes, both Careers, wouldn't turn on each other until they are sure that he is dead. They hate him; he had refused to join their alliance despite his training score of ten, and they had taken it very personally that he had instead chosen to join with a gang of weaker Tributes. This anger was fuelled in the arena when he had been responsible of the death of the two other Careers. Enjolras's fate has been sealed. He wants his death to mean something.

These barbaric Games, the stranglehold that the might of the Capitol has over the twelve districts of Panem…something has to give. Surely there is _someone _who would be willing to rise up and start a revolution. The one thing that Enjolras regrets is that he will not be there when the Districts finally refuse to let President Snow walk all over them. Back in his District, Enjolras would always speak of the Games with disdain and question the behaviour of the Capitol. It was downright treasonous; he had been whipped for it a number of times and more than once he had been threatened that the fate of an Avox awaited him if he should continue his protestations. In hindsight, his dissent is probably the reason that his name had been withdrawn during the Reaping. Who is to say that the choice is truly random? He is being made an example of.

There is only more thing he can do. He pulls himself shakily to his feet – he has not got through the last week unscathed – and limps out from behind the trees, shielding his eyes against the bright, artificial sunlight. He hears a triumphant laugh as the male Career notices him. Weapons in hand and with savage looks on their faces, they advance. He can see the girl aiming her knife as she sprints. Enjolras finds some twisted sense of triumph that he is choosing to die on his own terms and not at the whim of the Capitol.

The Gamemakers will have no choice but to show this – this late in the competition, the Capitol crowds are baying for bloodshed and for his death not to be shown in its entirety would cause uproar. He can't lose his nerve now. He is doing this for Eponine, Gavroche – he had only been twelve, Marius…Grantaire.

They are almost on him now. Enjolras holds his ground and as the girl prepares to throw her knife he lifts the blood-drenched material like a flag. With his eyes raised to the heavens he bellows,

"DOWN WITH THE CAPITOL!"

The first knife strikes his stomach.


End file.
